


Tag, You're It

by jennandblitz



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Battle of Hogwarts, Bring Back Black, Canonical Character Death, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Major Character Undeath, Minor Character Death, Not Canon Compliant - Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, it's happier than it sounds I swear
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-03
Updated: 2019-07-03
Packaged: 2020-06-03 10:23:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19462006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jennandblitz/pseuds/jennandblitz
Summary: It was a game they played, perhaps. Something to keep the terror of the real-world away. Harry was doted on by the five of them and everyone—even Remus, who didn’t really like babies—was well-versed in looking after him.Tag, you’re it,they’d say, passing over his bottle and his favourite stuffed toy.Tag, you’re it,as if to say,you look after him.As if to say,if I die.





	Tag, You're It

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a conversation in the WDS, as always. Thank you to my bestie Purplechimera for the beta, you da best, boo!

It was a game they played, perhaps. Something to keep the terror of the real-world away. Harry was doted on by the five of them and everyone—even Remus, who didn’t really like babies—was well-versed in looking after him. _Tag, you’re it_ , they’d say, passing over his bottle and his favourite stuffed toy. _Tag, you’re it,_ as if to say, _you look after him._ As if to say, _if I die._

James, pulling on his jacket after a frantic Patronus from Gideon Prewett. Hair wild from sleep in the 3am light, glasses askew. Kissing Lily on the mouth and saying _tag, you’re it_ , before running out the door. Harry fusses the whole 36 hours he’s gone.

Lily, pressing Harry’s swaddled little body into Sirius’ arms whilst James watches the street below out the window. Lily had insisted she help deal with the aftermath of Dorcas’ death. Kissing Harry on the forehead, then Sirius on the cheek, then Remus next to him on the cheek too. Saying _tag, you’re it_ before running out the door. Harry cries for the whole weekend they’re gone.

Peter, harried and seizing his hat from the table after being summoned by Dumbledore. He and James on the way to help the Order with clean-up after another Death Eater attack, meeting Remus by the doorway when he comes in from a cigarette. Clapping him on the back and saying _tag, you’re it,_ before stepping into the Floo. Harry wails for the entire night.

Remus, itching with the full moon peeking at the edge of the horizon, pressing the teething ring he’s been fiddling with into Sirius’ hand. Seeing the worry in Sirius’ eyes knowing Remus will spend the moon not with the Marauders but with another wolf pack. Kissing him like it’s a farewell and saying _tag, you’re it_ before Apparating from the porch. Harry cries and doesn’t stop until Sirius hands him the teething ring.

Sirius, falling, falling, falling. Falling. Humming bright with the frisson of the spell across his skin. Falling. Falling, endlessly. The room feels cold. A breeze licking at the back of his neck, whispering in a language he cannot understand. Bellatrix laughing and the shock of her spell running through him. Seeing Remus, seeing him running, seeing Harry, seeing Remus grab him and saying, _tag, you’re it_ , before nothing. Harry is crying.

* * *

_Tag, you’re it_ , Remus thinks. But there’s no one to tag.

Spells are flying all around. Flashing red, white, brown, purple. Green. Killing Curse green.

Remus wonders if there’ll ever be a time when he won’t be at fucking war. Wars with Voldemort, with prejudice, wars with friends and family, wars with himself. He’s been at war since he was five years old, he thinks.

Neville Longbottom runs past him, his wide eyes harrowed, his face dirt-streaked. Remus flings off a Stupefy at the Death Eater that follows him. There’s a Dementor across the Quidditch pitch. Remus can feel it. He feels the icy terror of it impressing on the edges of his consciousness. He remembers being bitten, he remembers the First War, remembers years of desolate isolation, remembers Harry calling him out on all his bullshit in the kitchen of Grimmauld Place and seeing Lily behind his green eyes. Remembers everything he wants to forget. Remembers Sirius. Remembers arguing, drawn to tears, in the First War in their little Peckham flat. Remembers the shearing pain of his ‘betrayal’. Remembers that night in the Shrieking Shack. Remembers watching Sirius regress back to his petulant teenage self in Grimmauld and being powerless to help him. Remembers Sirius falling. Falling, falling, falling.

_Tag, you’re it,_ Remus thinks. But there’s no one to tag.

Remus shakes his head and tries to summon up warmth and good memories but it seems like there are less and less of them recently. Teddy, smiling up at him, pink-gums and blue curly hair. That does it.

He hasn’t seen Dora since she had appeared next to him next to the Great Hall, saying we do this together, and he’d been _furious_. What about Teddy? He needs someone to tag, but there’s no one. Teddy is with Andromeda, Dora is in the grounds _somewhere_. She’s probably throwing out hexes and curses with punishing accuracy, might well be flinging insults too because Dora could never keep her mouth shut even a hair’s breadth from death. What is he supposed to do? Dora should be with Teddy. _He_ should be with Teddy. But Remus doesn’t want to face reality when everything _hurts_. It’s been hurting for two years, a sludgy, low-level bubbling in his bones that says _why am I not happy when I should be?_ Remus has a wife and a son. But when he smiles—rarely—it doesn’t reach his eyes.

He wants to tag someone else, he wants out. But there’s no one to tag.

_Protego, Stupefy, Stupefy!_

Magic pulls through Remus’ veins. The girl he’s just knocked unconscious is a werewolf. She’s skin and bones and must be around Dora’s age and Remus _hates_ that. Her face could be anyone’s. Dora’s button nose and pink eyebrows. Sirius’ fine mouth and high cheekbones. The Dementor must be closer. Remus is fucking tired. He’s so tired. _Tag, you’re it_ , but there’s no one to tag.

He spins on one foot to meet the Death Eater behind him, glad for the wolf’s sense of smell. The mask is the same as eighteen years ago, and twenty-year old Remus feels a tremor of fear beneath his sternum. He knows twenty-year old Remus would have had twenty-year old James and Sirius beside him but there’s no one to tag.

The duel is fast and sharp. Remus counters where he can, deflecting rays of sharp, acid green and ducking beneath flares of Crucio-red. His wand is pulling in his hand against the swell of magic, his internal ocean battering against the breakwater of exhaustion. Remus stumbles over a spread of fallen masonry—one of the bewitched statues has fallen, then—and time seems to slow down.

* * *

Falling, falling, falling. He hits the ground but it doesn’t hurt.

Sirius feels new. Feels twenty perhaps, his long limbs are rangy and well-muscled with youth instead of the destitute fragility of after Azkaban. He remembers falling. He remembers saying _tag, you’re it_ to Remus and hearing Harry scream. His breath doesn’t grate his insides when he breathes. In fact, it doesn’t feel like breathing at all. Everything is easy. So easy. Nothing hurts. Sirius can close his eyes and not feel cold, not see the Dementors, not feel the yawning weight of regret sink over him. He can think of Remus, knowing his memories are safe. He thinks of trading an awkward kiss with him in a bedroom of Grimmauld, trying to relearn their ways and remembering how they would fall into each other twenty years ago.

Sirius thinks his insides are still falling perhaps. Or maybe that they’re not here at all any more. It’s strange but it doesn’t feel important so he doesn’t dwell on it.

James is next to him, Sirius realises, after an undetermined amount of time. His hazel eyes are earnest behind his glasses. Sirius realises then that he’s standing but he doesn’t remember sitting up. He can’t speak. Oh, James.

James envelopes him in a hug, strong arms and the scent of broom polish. Sirius’ hands feel like they’re floating as he hugs back. James’ voice sounds like it’s underwater as he says, “Sirius, mate.”

Sirius’ voice springs then, as if he’s suddenly become aware of the existence of his voice box. “Prongs,” says Sirius, into James’ shoulder.

When they pull away, Lily is at James’ arm. She’s smiling but it’s a little sad. They both look _so_ young.

“We want you to stay,” Lily says, stepping forward to put her hand on his chest, “but you need to go. Tag, Sirius, you’re it.” _As if it’s I love you, or he’s your responsibility now, or save him, please._

She leans up and kisses his cheek and then Sirius’ insides pull and twist like they are back inside his body. He shifts and stretches, suddenly feeling weary. A tug behind his navel.

Falling, falling, falling.

Flagstones. Cool and firm. Falling did not hurt but landing does. His breath rasps and shears. James was there but now he is gone. Sirius stands and staggers like legs are unfamiliar to him, clutching onto a wall sconce and then the windowsill. Hogwarts. Second floor, beyond the Charms classrooms. He recognises the alcove. James found him here in first year, hiding from everyone clutching a letter from his mother. It may as well have been a Howler but Walburga Black didn’t air her dirty laundry to the rest of the world. James had put an arm around him and told him it was all okay. It seems fitting, then, that James would send him here.

Beyond the leaded windows a battle rages. Spells are dancing in brightly coloured criss-crosses. Sirius’ breath feels like poison, like he’s choking on the very thing he needs to live. His limbs burn as if he’s been on bed-rest for _years_. He thinks of Remus, holding Harry back from running to him. Thinks of the pain in his face. He knows what to do.

Four paws hit the ground. Padfoot will recognise Remus’ smell, he hopes. Ink, black tea with too much sugar and not enough milk, _wolf_. Padfoot gallops down the hallway, down the staircases, past the Great Hall, thundering over flagstones.

Harry is in the courtyard. He’s surrounded by friends, protected. He’s—Merlin—he’s just like them both. Lily and James would be watching him, Sirius thinks. Padfoot keeps running. He’s got Remus’ scent now and barrels over the expanse of grass down towards the Quidditch pitch.

* * *

The Death Eater raises his wand and the sound of the spell stretches from the tip of his tongue, long and slow. Remus squares his shoulders and lifts his own wand to cast a Shield Charm but the light of the Death Eater’s wand is already flaring green.

“ _Protego!”_

The green light splashes into the Shield Charm before Remus. That voice. It can’t—

“ _Avada Kedavra!”_

It’s him. Remus recognises the sound of his voice instantly. It winnows into the space between his cells and electrifies him. The Death Eater crumples and stood behind him is—is Sirius Black.

“Can’t leave before you tag someone, Moony,” Sirius says, his voice hoarse and sharp. He’s smiling too, just the corners of his mouth peeking upwards. His hair is wild-spun silk and his eyes are the fierce North Sea. He’s all long limbs and lithe darkness, someway between the Sirius he was starting to see in Grimmauld Place in the spring of 1996, when it was just the two of them, and the twenty-year old Sirius that is forever etched into Remus’ memory.

_Maybe I’ve died,_ Remus decides, _and this is some cruel afterlife_. His heart seizes in his throat and Remus nearly drops his wand until he fumbles, once, twice and catches it. For a moment, he does not think—awfully—of Dora or Teddy. He thinks of Sirius, thinks _I have you back, and this time I will not let you go_.

They stare at each other over the body of a Death Eater, maybe a former classmate, for the longest time. Remus feels on the edge of a transformation somehow, as if his body is turning inside out and his skin is no longer needed because Sirius is there, burrowing back into his heart where he’s _always_ belonged.

“Padfoot.” The name hurts his mouth on the way out. “You’re...”

“Yeah.” Sirius shifts his weight from hip to hip and clenches his knuckles around his wand.

Remus feels those internal breakwaters crumble and the tide comes rushing in. It’s the North Sea, crashing over him with full force because Sirius is alive and stood in front of him, the residual energy of the Killing Curse at the tip of his wand.

Sirius steps forward, steps around the out-flung arm of the Death Eater. Remus thinks he might be an apparition. Maybe a Hogwarts ghost—Merlin, Sirius would’ve loved to haunt Hogwarts—made solid by his own terror. Sirius wavers a little on his feet, uncharacteristically unsure, as if his limbs are strangers. Even though he might well be a spectre Remus instinctively reaches out to catch him—falling, falling, falling, I couldn’t catch you before—and _oh,_ Sirius is alive. He is here. He’s solid. He smells of leather, motor oil and smoke. His grey eyes are the North Sea and they settle from raging currents down to serenity when Remus looks at him. Sirius smiles, perhaps, just a little hint of one and warmth blooms in Remus’ chest to remember what it is like to see that smile and maybe, just maybe smile back.

Behind Remus a scream sounds and a jet of yellowish light springs past his ear with frightening distance. He turns and runs back towards the throngs of people, invigorated. Sirius is at his shoulder. It doesn’t take long for them to fall back into sync with each other. Remus should feel awful about that but he doesn’t, he feels _alive_. Sirius throws curses left and right and the longer he is by Remus’ side the sturdier he feels next to him, the more Remus lets himself believe this is real.

At the steps to the courtyard, Sirius grasps Remus’ hand and Remus squeezes back.

* * *

The Great Hall is filled with the dead.

Sirius follows Remus through the throngs until he stops at one. Sirius frowns. It’s Nymphadora. She looks plainer than he’d ever seen her before, her hair mousy brown, her skin pallid. Remus presses his fingers to his mouth and withdraws when Sirius goes to touch his shoulder. He doesn’t understand.

“I’m married. _Was_ married.” Remus stares at Nym’s body, his shoulders shuddering. Sirius notices, for the first time, a wedding band on his finger in the dim light. “I have a _son_ , Sirius. And he has no mother now.”

Grief is strange. Sirius doesn’t know what to do. He wants to wrap his arms around Remus because now they have each other again. “What’s his name?” Sirius croaks.

“Teddy.” Remus clears his throat. He pulls at the chapped skin at his bottom lip and nearly smiles. “Edward Remus Lupin.”

“Good name.” Sirius turns and watches Remus for a moment. He still can’t believe he is back here, next to Remus again. He looks infinitely older somehow, but his amber eyes are bright and beautiful as always. Sirius pushes a hand through his hair, raking midnight strands away from his dirt-streaked face. “How… how long has it been?”

Remus breaks as soon as he looks up at Sirius. His face shatters and Sirius gets a glimpse of those raw Moony-emotions he only used to see once in a blue moon—no pun intended—when his mask would slip and his carefully constructed indifference washed away. “Two years. Two _fucking_ years, Sirius.”

“ _Fuck…_ ” Sirius reaches out—he can’t help it—and presses his fingers into Remus’ shoulder. “I’m… I… fell—” Remus shudders. _Tag,_ _you’re it_ , Sirius thinks, remembering falling— “and when I landed, Prongs and Lily were there… said I had to go. Then I landed here… ran all the way to you terrified I wouldn’t find you.”

Remus nods and presses his fingers into his eyes. “You’re really back?”

Sirius shrugs one shoulder. He hasn’t thought of that before. Hasn’t really thought of anything besides getting to Remus. He doesn’t _want_ to fall again. As much as he wants to see James again, he wants to stay with Remus, with Harry, more. “Hope so. Want to stay… with you.”

Remus’ shoulders roll with sobs, his fingers still pressing over his eyes as if he’s trying to stop the tears escaping. Sirius steps to his side and bows his head, pressing his forehead against Remus’ shoulder. They are the same height, like always, but Remus seems smaller in that moment. Sirius doesn’t touch him anywhere else, just pressing his forehead into Remus’ shoulder.

Two years. Two years of grieving for Sirius, after all those little moments in Grimmauld Place. Awkward, tender, already-still mourning kisses and fumbles and Remus teaching Sirius life again and Sirius showing Remus humanity again. Fights, yes, always, just like before, but kisses too. Two years of losing everything again, again after all they have been through. How unfair it must’ve felt to Remus, whilst Sirius was just falling, falling, falling. Remus had no one to tag.

It doesn’t matter to Sirius that Remus tried to find love in his grief. Remus deserves it. Deserves better than a life of endless mourning. Maybe he and Nym were happy. Must’ve been to have a son. Sirius wonders if he should be here for Remus as a friend rather than whatever twisted up parts of each other they have become after all this time. But he can’t untwist them. He is Sirius and Remus is Remus and there is no name for what they are beyond things Sirius doesn’t believe in.

After a long moment, Remus turns and presses his mouth into Sirius’ hair. Sirius inhales and it finally feels like air and not poisonous sludge. His insides settle back into his chest and his heart tattoos a staccato on his ribcage. He is _alive_.

* * *

Remus is trying to find Harry. He’s _it_ and so is Sirius now but they can’t find him anywhere.

Sirius is by his side and when they round the corner onto the fifth floor corridor their hands collide. Remus doesn’t move away. Grief feels strange. He feels as if he is still mourning Sirius more than he is grieving Dora. She is dead and Teddy has no mother, but Remus has Sirius, and so the gaping hole in his heart somehow seems less. Sirius’ fingernails are painted black when Remus glances down at their hands.

_It’s always been you_ , Remus thinks, grief unfurling in a slow tang at the back of his throat. Always Sirius. He’s been chasing it for years, trying to find the feeling he felt with Sirius. Dora had come the closest, of course. And maybe the war had made him settle for something, thinking it was just enough to feel loved, as ill-advised as it was. But this, with Sirius, is so different. _It’s always been you_.

But he only lets the thought float free for a moment. They need to concentrate on finding Harry.

_Tag, you’re it,_ Remus thinks, imagining James and Lily rushing out of the house off to an important meeting.

* * *

McGonagall screams.

It’s true.

Sirius pushes to the front of the crowd to emerge next to Hermione and Ron. Remus is at his side, their fingers firmly laced. Sirius can’t tell who is shaking.

Hagrid holds Harry’s body in his arms. He looks so small. His glasses are a little askew. He looks like James with his eyes closed like that. Like Sirius is about to wake him for breakfast the morning after the full moon, early enough to go and see Remus in the Hospital Wing before Transfiguration. Like Sirius has stepped across the threshold into their cottage at Godric’s Hollow on October 31st 1981.

Remus squeezes their hands together. When Sirius slides a look his way, his amber eyes are misty and his mouth is pressed into a tight line. Sirius lets his shoulder press back against Remus’ body. He is alive, but Harry is not.

_Tag, you’re it_ , Sirius thinks, seeing James and Lily looking so young.

* * *

The Lupin cottage is quiet.

Teddy is still with Andromeda. They spoke through the Floo after… after everything. Andromeda had said she wanted to keep Teddy with her for a while longer. It was her way of grieving, of keeping busy. Remus was, awfully, too happy to accept a moment of peace. With Sirius. They hadn’t told her her cousin had returned from the dead. It seemed too cruel, like a swap, a life for a life, one of Remus’ lovers for another.

Remus feels sick to his stomach. He should be grieving his wife but instead he is holding Sirius’ hand and stepping across the threshold of his parent’s old cottage. He and Dora had lived in London, Remus keeping this cottage as a relic. It feels like 1994 again. Like Dumbledore has said _Lie low at Lupin’s_ , but Dumbledore is dead and Harry Potter is alive and the saviour of the wizarding world for the second time. The last twenty-four hours have made Remus sure that Death is no longer a black and white thing but some living, swirling beast who picks and chooses, spits out those he is not ready for yet. Remus feels disgusting for being happy with the choices Death has made.

It feels odd to step back in time four years. Remus remembers Sirius appearing on the doorstep, dirty and matted, hollow-eyed. Remus had offered him a cuppa and a shower and they had sat in awkward silence for hours until Remus dropped off to sleep in the armchair that still sits in the corner. It hadn’t taken them that long, comparatively, to tear each other open and discover that blood still runs red and beats through scarred, broken hearts and Remus’ heartbeat still sounded like _Si-ri-us_ and Sirius’ sounded like _Re-mus_.

Remus’ heart still sounds the same to himself. It had been easy to push everything away, knowing Sirius was dead and gone, knowing he would never fill that yawning Blackness in his heart. But now Sirius is back and all he can feel is this desperate yearning to be together.

He’s halfway through the motions of making tea when Sirius comes up behind him and presses his forehead into the flat of Remus’ shoulder blade. Remus inhales and sets the teaspoon down. It’s not 1994. Sirius is alive and with him. Remus closes his eyes as Sirius touches the line of his waist and slides the flat of his palm over Remus’ stomach. They are both alive.

When Remus turns, Sirius presses forward to meet him. They kiss slowly, tentatively. It’s been two years and there has been _so much_ but this never changes. Remus’ hands catalogue the shifting planes of Sirius’ body as they disrobe, still kissing, always kissing, _Merlin_ , always kissing. Sirius’ jacket on the kitchen floor, Remus’ jumper over the back of the armchair, Sirius’ socks in a breadcrumb trail over the bedroom door. The house is stale and still, the bed is just a bare mattress but it feels like the finest Egyptian cotton regardless.

Remus presses his face into Sirius’ neck and gasps around his peaking pleasure as Sirius sobs like it hurts but Remus knows it doesn’t because it’s the two of them. _You’re it, you’re it_.

* * *

The Burrow is bustling with people. Sirius steps out of the fireplace first and offers his hand to Remus as the other man steps through, bouncing Teddy on his hip. He’s three and a half and he calls Remus _Daddy_ and Sirius _Paddy_ and knows his mother died to make the world a better place. He knows Remus and Sirius love him. Sirius does love him. He’s Remus’ son, how can he not? Sirius sees the culmination of all of them in Teddy; Remus, Sirius, Tonks, Andromeda, James, Lily, Harry.

Sirius rests his hand on Remus’ back as they take in the minor chaos of the living room. Harry is in the centre of it, sat on the edge of the sofa with Ginny next to him. Teddy wriggles out of Remus’ grip and runs across to the sofa where he clambers into Harry’s lap. His hair sprouts black to match Harry’s and his nose straightens a little.

“Oh hello, you lot.” Harry is smiling and he looks _so_ much like them. “How’s my favourite Godson?”

“Paddy got me this, look, look!” Teddy waves his favourite new toy in Harry’s face. It’s _Harry_ , actually; a shitty knock-off superhero style figurine that Sirius had seen in some shitty shop in Diagon Alley and laughed about it all the way home. “Look! It’s you and you have a jacket and there’s your wand and your glasses but you can’t take them off like yours in real life—” Teddy paws at real-life Harry’s glasses— “but your trousers are _blue_ and that’s my favourite colour and—”

Sirius laughs as he and Remus make their way to the sofa. Harry looks a little bewildered like he’s understanding every other word from Teddy, just nodding along.

“Is that… a doll of _me_?” Harry asks when Sirius draws close enough, one eyebrow raising. Teddy is still extolling the virtues of his new toy.

Sirius shrugs a shoulder. “It was at one of those Merlin awful stalls in Diagon. Couldn’t resist, Prongslet.”

Harry rolls his eyes but he’s grinning.

“You sure you don’t mind us leaving him with you?” Remus says, straightening his collar. Date night is a new idea they’re trialling. It seems strange to leave Teddy—both of them are more protective that Sirius would’ve imagined when presented with the idea of having a child—but it’s something they want to try. The moons are different of course. Teddy is always asleep beforehand and someone will check on him through the night and Sirius has constructed a very sensitive baby-monitoring charm. But leaving him at the Burrow whilst he and Remus go and do something _nice_ is a foreign concept.

“Of course not. You two deserve it.” Harry grins at Teddy and ruffles his black hair. “We’ll have a great sleepover, won’t we Teds?”

Teddy pauses to screech “Yeah!” before diving back into his toy explanation.

Remus smiles and relaxes into Sirius’ touch. Sirius taps him softly on the back. “Shall we then? Fancy a walk over the promenade before dinner?”

“Sounds lovely,” Remus agrees, stepping closer to loop his arm around Sirius’ waist.

“If there’s any problems, I’ll let you know, okay? You’ve got your mirror, right?” Harry says between dodging Teddy’s flailing limbs and nodding in the appropriate places.

Sirius’ heart swells. Those bloody mirrors. He taps his jacket pocket and grins. “Of course, Prongslet, who do you take me for?”

Harry grins. He looks content and it’s so heartwarming to see. He sees them to the front door with Teddy perched on his hip. Teddy waves one sticky hand to copy Harry. Sirius leans into Remus and watches the doorway before they Apparate and thinks _Tag, you’re it, Prongslet._

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading darling! I've always wanted to write a Bring Back Black, and I feel like I could've made this a million times longer but I just wanted to keep this as a one-shot without dealing with _all_ the fallout of changing the Battle of Hogwarts and writing 20k on grief (which would've totally happened 😬). Let me know what you think!


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